As he had closed Miriam’s door behind him and tottered down that crooked staircase, it had struck him. This is about me. First the physiotherapist up there in the woods. Then Cecilie Davidsen, his patient, whom he’d visited at home. And now the remains of that body lying outside the door. Not until a few minutes later, as he was staggering through Sofienberg Park, did the memory surface, of Brede raging at him: One day I’ll destroy you, just the same way you destroyed me. Now, after a few hours’ sleep, this was the thought he clung to: This is about me. And Brede. I betrayed him. No one else could hate me this much.
Rita returned at about 4.30.
– Are you still here, Axel? she exclaimed, sounding pleased and shocked in equal measure.
– It’s up to you whether you believe your own eyes or not, he answered.
She took off her coat, pushed her feet into a pair of red slippers with plush trimming and took three plastic bags of shopping into the kitchen. She came back in and sat in the easy chair at the end of the table.
– No problem cancelling the appointments?
– In a manner of speaking. They realise that even you can be ill. But now tell me what’s going on.
He leaned back in the sofa, let his eyes trace the line of the joints between the ceiling tiles.
– How long have we been working together, Rita?
She thought about it.
– Soon be twelve years.
– Do you think you know me?
– Yes, I would say so.
– Do you trust me?
– Give over, Axel. There aren’t that many people I’d let sit by my death bed. But you’re one of them.
He gave a quick smile up at the ceiling.
– I hope you feel the same way once you’ve heard what I’m about to tell you.
Rita had heated up some leftover fish soup.
– You surely can’t believe that, Axel, she exclaimed as she placed the steaming pan on the table. – No one would go so far as to kill three defenceless women just to get at you.
– So you think it’s coincidental that all the victims have a connection to me?
She ladled out a portion of soup for him.
– It’s not up to me to think anything about anything. That’s a job for the police.
– You’re right. I’ll talk to them. But not until tomorrow.
– Are you out of your mind?
He didn’t answer immediately. Slurped down some soup; he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. When he was finished he said:
– I’ll talk to them first thing tomorrow. But there’s something I have to do first. This evening.
Rita gave a long, demonstrative shake of the head.
– Don’t think I haven’t noticed how she’s been throwing herself at you from the very first day. That student.
– This is not about her.
Rita didn’t buy it.
– I get so angry about things like that.
Axel pushed his plate away.
– Three people have been killed, Rita. In some way or other I’m involved. Let’s keep Miriam out of this. Do you have a pair of socks I could borrow? And a torch?
44
VIKEN CLICKED HIS way briskly through the net editions of the newspapers. The police hadn’t announced that they suspected the same person was responsible for the murders, but the media had no doubt about it. VG quickly dubbed him ‘the Beast’, having suddenly stopped telling its readers that a killer bear was loose in the city. A memo from Finckenhagen dated that same morning had gone out to everyone with instructions in bold type that from now on, all communications with the media were to go via her to the Chief Superintendent. That was fine by Viken, because it would keep her busy for a while and out of the way of the investigation. On the other hand, she had no real overview of what was going on. Viken had seen enough leaders lose their heads when things began to get hectic. As for himself, the more adrenalin that was pumping round the corridors, the calmer he seemed to be. Perhaps the most important quality of all for a leader in our business, he thought as he opened Jebsen’s notes to take a closer look at the interview with the newspaper delivery man.
The phone rang. He answered with a grunt and recognised the voice of the girl down in reception whom he thought of as ‘the Bimbo’. No, he didn’t see people who just turned up on the doorstep, not even if they had something important to tell him. No, not even if they refused to talk to anyone else but him. She should get in touch with central office in the usual way. He didn’t have time to keep repeating this every bloody day.
He was harsher than he meant to be, seeing in his mind’s eye the Bimbo sitting behind the counter in her bulging blue uniform shirt. Then he heard another female voice in the background. Picked up a name being mentioned.
– What was that somebody just said to you? he asked the Bimbo.
– Oh, are you still there? I thought you’d hung up.
– I asked you what the woman said.
– She said … What did you just say? … Something you should know before it’s too late; it’s about someone named Glenne, her doctor.
Viken greeted the visitor as she emerged from the lift. She was above medium height, with reddish hair and a lot of feminine curves. She was dressed in an expensive-looking black outfit with faint grey stripes. The skirt reached to her knees and she wore high-heeled leather boots. She extended a gloved hand towards him as though expecting him to kiss it. Instead he gave it a quick squeeze and introduced himself.
– Solveig Lundwall, the woman responded in a voice he would unhesitatingly have described as mellifluous.
He took her to his office.
– You wanted to speak to me personally, he began.
She removed her gloves and smoothed them out on her knees.
– I’ve seen in the newspapers that you have been speaking out about these dreadful … events. And I have also seen you on the television news. You are a person who instantly inspires confidence.
– Well, said Viken as he leaned back in his office chair. – Our duty is to make the public feel safe. He had always had a weakness for red-haired women. – You wanted to tell me something about a doctor …
– Dr Glenne, she said, interrupting. – I delayed as long as I could, but I can no longer keep this to myself.
Viken took a tape recorder out of the bottom drawer. It hadn’t been used for several years.
– Do you have any objection to my recording our conversation?
– Absolutely not, Detective Chief Inspector. On the contrary, I would like as many people as possible to know about this.
He puzzled about what she might mean, but let it go.
– Are we talking about a doctor named Axel Glenne, who runs a clinic in Bogstadveien?
– Yes.
– Are you a patient of his?
She confirmed this too.
– What is it you think we should know about him?
She thought for a moment, then said:
– I am not an informer. I don’t want anyone to think that.
He pushed the microphone over towards her.
– People who come to us are not informers, they are witnesses. We are completely dependent on people like you to do our job.
She closed her eyes. Emphasising every word, she said:
– Dr Glenne is a good doctor. Very good. But he is not the man people think he is.
She stopped.
– In what way?
– He has taken all the sins of the world upon his shoulders.
Viken moved his head from side to side but said nothing.
– He has saved many. He saved my husband from certain death.
– Your husband is ill?
She muttered something he didn’t catch; it sounded like ‘milky hell’, but he didn’t ask, afraid that she might follow up with the medical history of her entire family.
– I’m probably a little slow on the uptake, Mrs Lundwall, he said instead, – but I’m still not clear what it
is you’ve come here to report.
Still she sat with her eyes closed. He saw that her jaw muscles were clenched.
– Dr Glenne has taken it upon himself to save the world from what is to come. I wanted to follow him, but I no longer believe that he is capable of it. I think he is just a human being, the same as you and me.
Viken started scratching his throat.
– He is a seducer, she said, opening her eyes again. She looked straight at him, an almost angry expression in her gaze.
– Does this mean, Viken asked, – does this mean that he has transgressed certain boundaries in his relationships with his patients?
She shook her head.
– Not his patients. But the people with whom he consorts are ruffians. And harlots.
Viken found the word quaint.
– You mean prostitutes?
– Call her what you will.
– Her? Are you talking about a particular woman?
Abruptly Solveig Lundwall rose to her feet.
– Now it is said. If you are looking for him, I know where he is to be found.
Viken stood up too, unsure whether to ask her to sit down again.
– Well we’re not looking for this Glenne. But there are still a couple of things in your statement …
– I have said what there is to say. The money is of no interest to me whatsoever. You may keep it.
Viken was astounded.
– The money?
Solveig Lundwall offered him her hand, and when he reluctantly took it, she bent suddenly towards him and kissed him on the cheek.
– The thirty pieces of silver, Caiaphas, she whispered in his ear.
Viken pulled back, blinking in confusion as he struggled to work out whether she had been mistaking him for someone else the whole time. She smiled, a strange flash in the eyes, and before he could recover himself, she had turned on her heels and was gone from the room.
He remained standing where he was, rubbing his cheek. Not until a couple of minutes later did he turn off the tape and sink down into his chair, still so nonplussed that he wasn’t even able to feel annoyed at having allowed a woman who was so obviously stark raving mad to slip through the filters and get all the way up to his office.
45
AXEL FOLLOWED A track at the upper end of Sognsvann. He kept off the marked paths. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want anyone to see him. He had just sent two text messages, one to Miriam, one to Bie. Now he turned off his phone.
It had been raining down in town. As he climbed higher through the forest, he saw that it had been falling as snow up there. The footpaths around Blankvann were covered in a thin white carpet that twinkled in the pale light. He picked up the indefinable scent of winter, though small, shrivelled clusters of blueberries still hung in among the heather. He came across a set of fresh tracks; they looked like elk. He’d spotted elk many times. Somewhere not far from here he had undressed Bie, and while he was taking her from behind against an upended pine trunk, a female elk came charging down the slope. It stopped two metres away, stood there swaying and staring, and for a moment looked as though it might attack. Then it turned away and disappeared, two calves following behind. Next day he told Ola what had happened. They’d been sitting in his office having a cup of coffee before the first patient arrived. Remember what I said in my best man’s speech? Ola had responded, with the most innocent smile in the world. There’s not an animal in the world that will attack you when you’re offering your devotions to Pan. Ola was the best friend he’d ever had. But he had never told even him the story of what had happened with Brede.
He came to a halt by the tarn. A mere two weeks ago he and Miriam had swum here. He could see her in his mind’s eye as she emerged from the water. The naked white body coming towards him. Half jokingly she had said she wanted to take him to the place she came from. To a house by the sea, far from the nearest town, which was called Kaunas.
He climbed over the top of the rise and down the other side. Approached the pine-branch shelter from below. Stood a while and studied it. No one there. He switched on the torch and peered in. An empty beer bottle on the rolled-up blanket, an opened packet of frankfurters, a newspaper. He opened it out. Dagbladet, two days old. Down at the bottom a picture of the detective chief inspector who had interviewed him: No new leads in the bear murders case.
Some distance away, on the far side of the hollow, he sat down in the damp moss, his back against a pine trunk. He sat without moving as the darkness wrapped itself around him. It was wildly unlikely that Brede would show up here, but Axel was absolutely certain that he would. He listened to the autumn evening. The rustling of the treetops. A plane on its way to Gardermoen. Silence afterwards. If anyone approached the shelter, he would hear them coming a long way off.
Half an hour past midnight. A wind had got up in the hollow behind him. The temperature was probably below zero. A half-moon slipped in and out of the clouds. He pulled his jacket tight around him, but it didn’t help. A few minutes later he got up and padded down to the shelter. Lay down inside with the mouldy-smelling woollen blanket wrapped around him. Through the rip in the plastic he looked up at a bare patch of black sky. Brede has been given enough chances to do the right thing, Axel. It doesn’t help him at all if you try to excuse what he’s done. Don’t send him away, please. He didn’t mean it. His father’s voice when he answers is controlled, but Axel can hear that there’s something smouldering in there, something that will explode if he makes a wrong move, and blow him to smithereens. He daren’t say any more. And then his father lays a hand on his shoulder. I appreciate your wanting to defend him, Axel. You’re a fine boy. You’ll always do the right thing. But you must understand, some things cannot be forgiven.
Brede, he thought as he lay there, it wasn’t me that wanted it to work out this way. And now as I lie here looking out into the dark, I sense the sheerness of that membrane that divides your life from mine. One more breath could turn me into you with no way back again.
He’d heard nothing; perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Suddenly something covered the gash in the plastic. A face. He jumped up and crawled out backwards. As he straightened up, he heard footsteps moving across the forest floor. Saw a shadow disappearing between the trees.
– Wait! he shouted, running. Stopped by the rise and listened. Heard footsteps some way ahead, in the direction of the tarn. He sprinted as hard as he could, stumbled in the undergrowth, got to his feet again. The figure appeared in front of him, over by the boat that lay upside down, hobbled past it and on up the bank. Axel was gaining on him, caught up with him at last, grabbed him by the shoulder. The person tried to pull himself free. Axel seized him round the waist and threw him to the ground, planted a knee in his chest, pulled the torch from his pocket and switched it on.
– Brede! he screamed into the face below him.
The man pinched his eyes shut against the bright light. He had long grey hair and a beard, and sunken eyes. He looked to be over sixty. He stank of urine.
– What do you want? he whimpered.
Axel bit his lip and swore. Time to pull yourself together, Axel Glenne. Surely you didn’t really think it was Brede.
– Are you the person who lives in that shelter?
The old man tried to nod.
– No one else lives there?
Now he shook his head. He had managed to work one arm free and held it up in front of himself like a shield.
– Are you going to kill me now? he murmured.
I AM WAITING for you. Sitting in the car, leafing through the newspapers. According to some professor or other, they shouldn’t be writing about me. Because that is what I want. That the need for attention might make me kill again. If the idiot only knew just how wide of the mark he is. I don’t want attention. Don’t give a shit what the papers say. This is about you and me. Nobody else.
Finally you show up. I follow you with my eyes as you head down the pavement on the other side of the road. You don’t k
now it yet. But you suspect it. That it’s your turn next. Unless chance comes along to save you. The only god that can interfere. I could have planned it in more detail. Tried to control the god of chance. But unpredictability is my nature. I am willing to risk everything. You aren’t like that. You always stop in time. Yet we are twin souls. And in that case the bear should be not just my inner animal but yours too.
By the time you hear this, you’ll be lying there unable to move. Unable to do anything but listen to my voice. Now you understand what you’ve done. You feel regret. It doesn’t help. Only chance can save you now. As I make this recording, there is still a chance you might escape. Many things can go wrong. You will be given a final warning. Maybe you’ll inform on me then and save your own skin. If not, it will be your turn. Three times now I have gone to women and taken them with me. The fourth time things will be different. You will come to me. Your guilty conscience will bring you here. And that is why you are lying in the dark, listening to my voice.
The god of chance is weak now, too weak to interfere. He almost stopped me that day I came for the third woman. When she smelled the cloth and passed out, she vomited and her head banged against the window. A couple with a dog came by but I got her down on to the floor of the car, and it was so dark they couldn’t see anything. She was three nights with me. I untied her hands when I was lying beside her. She wanted me. Even though I said I had to kill her, she wanted me. But I didn’t exploit her. I’m not like that. Lay next to her the whole of that last night. Let her hold me and caress me as much as she wanted. It calmed her down and was good for her. We both fell asleep. In the morning I showed her how it would happen. Then I had to tape her up again. I’ll show you too. I’ll follow every twitch of your face once you realise what’s going to happen to you down there in the cellar. Can hardly wait, just thinking about it. To see your eyes then will be the most blissful moment of my life. Afterwards you will be gone, and I will be somewhere there are no other people. What I have done can never be atoned for. They hate me for it. Despise me. There is no way back. That is what it means to be perfectly alone. It never ends. That is what I want.
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